


Omission

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4991452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve seen you come back from shootouts looking better than this,” Enjolras tells him, and his tone is a little sharper than he’d intended for it to be. He sounds chastising instead of concerned. “Don’t tell me you can’t deal with a simple honeypot mission.”</p><p>“Well, it wasn’t a simple honeypot mission, was it?” Grantaire grouses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Omission

He’s usually more composed than this, but Enjolras turns the feed off the moment Grantaire leans in closer to Feuilly, smile sweet and warm and _genuine_ in a way that means that he isn’t acting, not really, and fuck if that doesn’t send a sharp burst of pain through Enjolras’ chest. 

He takes in a deep breath, centres himself. 

Grantaire is just doing his job, just trying to secure the mark, and even if he weren’t, even if Grantaire were indeed interested in Feuilly, it’s _none of Enjolras’ business_. 

Enjolras is just here to do his job.

—

Grantaire reports back to HQ four hours later; Enjolras has been counting every single minute, even though he should know better than to do that. 

“It went well,” Grantaire reports, dropping down onto the seat opposite Enjolras’ desk, slumping against it. “Feuilly’s in the safe house, and he knows not to leave. He’s a smart one.” Grantaire’s lips quirk up slightly at that last bit, and Enjolras’ fists clench tightly under the desk where Grantaire cannot see. 

“Did you get the information?” he asks Grantaire instead, grateful that his voice comes out even. When Grantaire nods, he slides a stack of forms across the table for Grantaire.

“Debrief forms?” Grantaire asks, making a face, even though by now he should be used to it. “ _Now_? I need to lay down and sleep and not wake up for at least three days. I’m exhausted. If I didn’t hate Medical so much, I would check myself in just so I could get some uninterrupted rest.”

Grantaire isn’t lying, Enjolras thinks, because he really does look tired now that he’s dropped all the charm and the bright smiles that he was using on Feuilly just now. 

“I’ve seen you come back from shootouts looking better than this,” Enjolras tells him, and his tone is a little sharper than he’d intended for it to be. He sounds chastising instead of concerned. “Don’t tell you can’t deal with a simple honeypot mission.”

“Well, it wasn’t a simple honeypot mission, was it?” Grantaire grouses. 

Enjolras frowns. “Was it not?” 

Something in Grantaire’s eyes shifts, and he grins a little. “How quickly did you turn video feed off?” he asks. 

Enjolras flushes, caught out. “I saw enough to get a general idea of the direction things were heading in,” he tells Grantaire, instead of telling him point-blank that he couldn’t even watch Grantaire kiss Feuilly. 

“You’re supposed to keep a visual on me in case things go topsy-turvy,” Grantaire says, but he’s still smiling, and it puts Enjolras off his game. “I wasn’t a suitable candidate for the honeypot mission,” he tells Enjolras. “He didn’t want me.”

“How could he not?” Enjolras blurts out, stunned. And then tries to backtrack when Grantaire’s grin grows wider. “I mean, you are exactly his type. You were chosen because you’re exactly his type.” 

Brunette, blue eyes, athletic, good sense of humour. That’s what it’d said in the recon file. 

“He’s in love with someone else,” Grantaire tells him. “He never would’ve slept with me.”

Enjolras frowns. “Then what were you doing for four hours with Feuilly?” 

“Talking,” Grantaire says. “About feelings.”

“ _Talking_ ,” Enjolras echoes, the knot in his chest loosening. He almost smiles, forgetting himself, but then manages to stop himself. “How did you get him to go to the safe house, then?” 

“Feuilly is reasonable. I took a chance, told him what was happening, and he agreed to leave with me,” Grantaire tells him. “If we’d just went to him and explained that he was in danger, and that his tech was being targeted by terrorists, he’d have cooperated with us.”

“Well, that makes the rest of our work a lot easier,” Enjolras says.

“It does,” Grantaire says, and then leans across the desk. “Were you jealous?” he asks Enjolras, voice soft. 

Enjolras doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to lie to Grantaire, but he doesn’t know what to say that wouldn’t be a lie, so he settles for silence, and thanks every god he can think of that he has a very excellent poker face. He can’t let Grantaire find out, can’t let Grantaire feel uncomfortable and request another handler, because he already used to the idea of not being able to ever have Grantaire, but he doesn’t think he could stand Grantaire being someone else’s agent. 

After a long moment of silence, Grantaire sinks back into his seat. It’s not relief on his face, as Enjolras would’ve thought. He looks disappointed, _devastated_. 

Enjolras’ breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he loses his brain-to-mouth filter, and can’t stop himself from saying, “I turned the feed off before you kissed Feuilly. I couldn’t bear to look.”

Grantaire’s lips part. 

Enjolras regrets the words the moment he says them, and his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he doesn’t shy away from Grantaire’s gaze. 

“Because you think honeypot missions are beneath us and that I’m a horrible person for seducing Feuilly?” Grantaire prods, tentative. 

Enjolras shakes his head, barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Your orders came from me, R,” he tells Grantaire. “I basically asked you to seduce him.”

“You don’t give the orders, you relay them, but that’s really not the point right now,” Grantaire tells him, eyes on him, sharp. “Why couldn’t you bear to look?” 

“You were right,” Enjolras says slowly. “I was jealous.”

Grantaire makes a tiny noise at the back of his throat. “Why were you jealous?” he asks.

Enjolras shifts in his seat. “This isn’t an interrogation, R,” he says without heat. 

“ _Enjolras_.” 

“What do you want me to say, Grantaire?” Enjolras says. “Surely you must know by now. Who am I kidding? You read people like open books, you must’ve known for _ages_ -”

“I really haven’t,” Grantaire tells him. “I think I know what you’re saying, but I can’t be sure. I never can be, with you. I need to hear you _say_ it, Enjolras, with actual words and all.”

“I love you,” Enjolras says, and shuts his eyes, screws them together tightly, because he’s been doing all he can to keep it to himself for ages now, and Grantaire wasn’t ever meant to know about it. “I love you, have for a long time.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire curses, and then leans back in his seat and laughs. “Oh, fuck, _Enjolras_. How long?” 

Enjolras swallows, aware that Grantaire isn’t saying it back, isn’t telling Enjolras the words he wants to hear. He considers cutting his losses and dismissing Grantaire, but decides against it, against lying by omission anymore. 

“Osaka, February 2010,” he tells Grantaire, and watches Grantaire’s eyes widen in surprise, because that’s five years ago, fourteen months after Enjolras started as Grantaire’s new handler. He drops his gaze. “You defied every order you got and almost died trying to save that civilian girl, and I knew then that there was a lot more to you than what you wanted everyone to think. That’s when the feelings started, I think.” Grantaire doesn’t look too horrified, so Enjolras continues. “It got worse three months later, when you went undercover as a librarian in Sao Paolo. It was…a good look on you. I barely slept that week because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Grantaire breathes out.

Enjolras manages a smile at that. “I wasn’t really sure about it until Tel Aviv,” Enjolras says. And then because he may as well come clean about everything, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you about Tel Aviv.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, which is a surprise. “Bossuet thought I needed to know that you were the one who ignored orders to leave me in Tel Aviv, and authorised the extraction team.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Enjolras says, and it feels good to finally admit it. To Grantaire, to himself. “It was the logical thing to do, we didn’t know if you were dead or alive, but I just couldn’t do it. If the higher ups had found out about the extraction team before they landed in Tel Aviv, and called the extraction off, I would’ve gone there myself, fuck the risks. That’s when I knew for sure.”

Grantaire huffs out an incredulous laugh. “That’s _three years ago_.” 

“I know,” Enjolras says. “You sound upset. Are you angry at me?”

“I would be if I had any right to be,” Grantaire tells Enjolras, a little sheepish. He offers his hand to Enjolras, and Enjolras takes it, tangling their fingers together dazedly, squeezing tightly. “Tianjin, January 2009. That was when I knew.”

Enjolras startles. “That was- R, that was our first job together.”

Grantaire’s grin is wry. “I’ve had handlers before you, _good_ handlers, but I don’t think any of them would’ve gotten me out of that ambush as elegantly and as quickly as you did. It was very hot.” Enjolras opens his mouth to interject, but Grantaire cuts him off quickly. “But that wasn’t how I knew. There was something in your voice that night. I’d never worked with you before, but I knew somehow that I could trust you, I just knew that my life was safe in your hands. And then I came back and you made me fill out debrief forms while you yelled at me for two hours.” He laughs. “Best two hours of my life. My feelings for you haven’t changed since.”

“And what feelings do you have for me, R?” Enjolras asks, for no reason other than to to just hear Grantaire say it. 

Grantaire must know, because his smile turns soft and fond. “I love you. Have ever since Tianjin.”

Enjolras grins. And then, “ _Tianjin_? Really?” 

Grantaire nods, and his grin grows sly. “Since then your voice has been very prominently featured in my fantasies.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras asks. The air between them is charged, thick with promise. He does the math in his head, calculates the probability of someone coming into his office, and walking in on them, and doesn’t finish the sums because—

“Bet you didn’t know that I could come just by listening to your voice,” Grantaire says casually, like he’s discussing the weather, even though his palms are sweaty in Enjolras’ hand. 

Grantaire’s always been very good at keeping his composure, and fortunately, so is Enjolras, when he has a mission in mind. 

“I’ll believe you when I see proof of it, Agent,” he says, and slips his hand out of Grantaire’s. He turns on their comms, and Grantaire breaks into a huge grin. He looks away from Grantaire, pulls up a floor plan of HQ on his laptop, zeroing in on one of the smaller conference rooms, already planning the best route to get Grantaire there. 

When he looks up, Grantaire’s already left his office. 

He smiles, slips on his earpiece, and says, “Ready, R?”

“Never been readier,” Grantaire replies, breath hitching in excitement, and does what he does best — follows when Enjolras leads.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here on tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi!
> 
> This is #6 on my WIP list, thank you for the number, [fictionisthetruth](http://fictionisthetruth.tumblr.com/)! :)


End file.
